


nighttime always calls for contemplation

by IvyPrincess



Series: just a thought [4]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drabble, Gen, Introspection, Late at Night, No Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23939056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyPrincess/pseuds/IvyPrincess
Summary: i literally caught a cold bc i stayed up really late to write this and i was freezing but it's fine bc lies we told by fallen roses slapped so hard, definitely listen to it while you read
Series: just a thought [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722790
Kudos: 16





	nighttime always calls for contemplation

**Author's Note:**

> i literally caught a cold bc i stayed up really late to write this and i was freezing but it's fine bc lies we told by fallen roses slapped so hard, definitely listen to it while you read

There's something about the lights at night that make time stop. The stars don't hang from the sky but dazzle instead from the 20th floor as Jaemin tilts his head back to stare at the warmly lit apartments swimming above him. He's got his hands shoved deep in his trouser pockets, shirt untucked, and it's only with Lady Luck's blessing that he hasn't walked into a pole or another person yet. There's not an ounce of money on him, and his manager is going to eviscerate him when he eventually ambles back into their hotel, but these stolen moments in an unfamiliar city's air mean the world to him in a way that his members and staff can't understand. It truly is a miracle no one's jumped him or recognized him yet, especially with the way his freshly dyed hair glows underneath the streetlights.

The hotel they're staying at overlooks the riverbanks, and Jaemin makes his way there aimlessly, following the growing breeze and the rush of waves lapping against exposed brick. He passes by the same busker from earlier that afternoon, still playing a winsome saxophone, but it hits him differently past midnight, and he pauses to nod at the man, a corner of his mouth lifting as the sax falters when he walks away. He's got to be a sight right now, pristine white suit from earlier on stage that he still hasn't changed out of, young enough that there can't be a good reason he's out this late, charmingly pretty enough that he can't just be anyone.

The river is dark but heavy with noise. There's a riverboat party somewhere across the bay, its twinkling lights barely visible this far away in his poor night vision. Jaemin squints his eyes at it anyway, watching the glow feather out until everything in his vision becomes a void in a way that a city of perpetual life could never attain. Mournful jazz continues to ebb and flow with the wind as he leans over the guardrail. The wrinkles in his hands are especially prominent under the bright warmth of the nearest lamppost, and he tries not to look at them for too long, clenching his fingers into his fists. This career has aged him in a way he never realized, with the constant roar of bustling tours and sullen grey nights of practice. There's no time for the follies of youth when you instigate the falling of youth, after all.

Of everything he's sacrificed for a few gleaming moments on stage, Jaemin never expected solitude to be one of the prices named. Wherever he goes, there's always someone moving with him, alongside him, behind him covering his tracks, leading his way forward, and the meticulous way his life has been planned out for him is both comfortably convenient and terrifyingly jarring. He supposes he should probably head back if he's starting to question his entire existence, even if the taste of wind licking through his bangs and ruining his earlier styling is almost too delectable to resist.

Outside the hotel again, Jaemin looks back only once towards the river, thinks of yet another urban jungle he will never stalk through, and wonders. But there are familiar heads peeking out a balcony up high as he looks up towards the artificial starlight once more, and one of the figures violently gestures downwards (it's Hyuck, he realizes with a growing grin, flipping him off), and he strides briskly through the lobby entrance, fleeting hesitation and doubt washed downriver towards an unknown sea. There are places to be and people to see, and time was never meant to stop for him alone.


End file.
